In a recent email, Dr. "M." corroborates Theresa's account of spotting Morgan Freeman in the Oxford, Mississippi, area. It seems, according to Dr. "M.'s" report, that a few years ago she cornered Mr. Freeman at an Oxford cocktail party and - fueled by perhaps three martinis - attempted to engage him on serious political issues until he managed to get away. Dr. "M." remembers little about the encounter save for the patterns on Mr. Freeman's sweater, at which she stared with intensity as she spoke. Speaking of drinks, Dr. "M." enjoyed her first Pimm's Cup the other night, inspired by "blog" recommendations. The rest of her meal was not up to par. Let us hear it in Dr. "M.'s" own words, in her capacity as "blog" food critic: "I ended up sending back my dinner! I ordered the veggie plate of all things, and it was as if someone had poured an entire canister of salt on top. I mean, it was salty, people! Unbelievably salty. My tongue felt as if someone had cleaned it with a salty abrasive. (Yes, sometimes my mouth does need to be washed out with soap, but not salt!! Ugh.) I then ordered a side salad to replace it because the Farmer was close to done with his pork chop/ mac-n-cheese dish (also salty!) and I didn't want to get a whole new plate of food. The salad was terrible. Why, you ask? Because the dressing was super-salty!! The Farmer can confirm the oversaltedness of everything because I made him taste it. It was just like that SNL skit with Tom Hanks where he makes everyone try the spoiled milk. Just like that." Needless to say, Dr. "M.'s" meal did not take place in New Orleans, the home of the Pimm's Cup, where food is good. We hesitate to even name the city in which such a meal was served. In fact, we will not. Dr. "M." signed off with this happier information: "My dad wrote a column once about holding a hummingbird in his hand."
